


In The Cleansing Rain

by Kilgrave (I_Am_Darkness)



Category: The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996)
Genre: Angel & Human Interactions, Angel Wings, Basically I like Frollo so I decided to have him saved, F/M, Gen, Mentions of a Villain Backstory, Original Character(s), Shapeshifting, Villain Character Redemption, alternative ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:47:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23577148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Am_Darkness/pseuds/Kilgrave
Summary: An angel descends from Heaven as the city of Paris is purged in hellfire. One would expect divine wrath to descend along with her and be rightfully bestowed upon the culprit, but perhaps God has other plans...
Relationships: Claude Frollo/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 32





	In The Cleansing Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick note; I mainly refer to this angel with female pronouns because she usually takes on a female form, but in this storyline angels can shapeshift so I switch the pronouns according to the form she's using. Also, this story is based on the 1996 film.  
> Anyway, enjoy!

_"And He shall smite the wicked and plunge them into the fiery pit!"_

A single droplet of rain fell upon the burnished steel of the blade, trailing quickly down the base of the sword as he swung it high and settling right before the hangle.

Another fell on his clenched, white knuckles and then another onto his trimmed grey hair.

He only noticed when he felt the gentle caress of a larger droplet on his pallid cheek. It ran down his face like a teardrop and stilled on his sharp jawline.

It was only a momentary pause, a milisecond-long glance to the dark grey skies, before the old architecture began to crack and crumble under his weight. 

_A sharp intake of breath came as his eyes darted down below him._

And what weight it was...the lanky Judge rarely ever ate more than needed to keep himself alive; abstinence from sins like lust or gluttony would grant him entry to heaven, he told himself. It would make one wonder how the strong architecture crumbled now, when his adoptive servant-of-a-son climbed and jumped about with glee along the opulent church so very often...

A most morbid miracle.

And he fell with a piercing scream that echoed dispair and fear; the sword glinted as it slipped from his grip and spun through its fall while its former wielder flailed and his scream faded as he descended into the fire.

_Come to think of it...his scream was eerily similar to Lucifer's when he fell,_ thought the angel as she descended to the burning land. His own creation of hellish entropy, the pride and joy that would now engulf him in its suffocating embrace.

But she hoped to prevent that.

He saw the angel as he fell and his scream ceased completely. For a moment, the dread in the pit of his stomach from the loss of solid ground disappeared.

Nothing had ever been whiter than the pair of wings outstretched before his flawed, human eyes. They were closing in on him, reaching him faster than gravity's pull.

Hell tugged at his flesh with its invisible gravitational grip, but heaven pierced through the thick skies to reach him.

The angel's outstretched arm blurred in his vision when the droplets hit his unblinking eyes and when a sudden branch of lightning crossed the black clouds, he was forced to push his eyelids together tightly and shield his eyes from the blinding light.

She reached him when the booming thunder sounded through the area and they landed on the sorched ground safely as the echo slowly faded...only to be replaced by another one as the rain grew heavier.

It must have taken only seconds for his life to be saved, but it felt like an eternity of falling into the abyss while staring at the agent of heaven above him.

Soon enough, he gew awareness of his surroundings and the white noise cleared into screams of fright and awe from the citizens of Paris as they saw the Lord's angel before their unowrthy, sinful eyes.

The Lord had no doubt sought to punish their insolence against him by sending this-...

_woman?_

Frollo stepped back once the angel had let go of him and he observed in disbelief the angel's feminine physical form. Nowhere in the lore was it written that angels came as _females_.

That would be sinful...

"...And no wonder, for even Satan disguises himself as an angel of Light." Frollo recited with spiteful doubt. All the years of self-flaggelation had taught him temperance and strength in the eyes of the enemy.

"2 Corinthians 11:14." Acknowledged the angel calmly in response. "Quite ironic coming from the one who wished damnation upon himself the same way Satan did."

Anger snapped into shock at the angel's words and he recalled his last statement before the firm stone somehow crumbled beneath him...sending him straight to the pit of fire, where he so boastfully claimed the wicked would plunge.

_The wicked_...

"Prejudice consumes you as the fire of your making consumes this land." Stated the angel once the realisation had settled in his mind. "The same land you were elected in the eyes of men and God to protect."

Frollo stepped further back as his sins manifested in his mind and took an invisible step towards him. The angel remained still.

"Your words preach abstinence from sin yet your actions so shamelessly revel in it...and your practice of the Scriptures is just as flawed."

The angel's tone was grim in its calmness, and by that time the flames had already begun losing the battle against the storming rain, hissing their defeat and shrinking to smoke and embers while the thunder silenced their hellish sound.

Frollo had not yet dared to speak as the crowd began to gather around him as if in a trance from the physical divine intervention. His eyes darted around the circle of citizens who'd already been motivated against him by Phoebus' speech; he almost resembled a cornered wild animal as he backed up until he reached the nearest wall, which was that of Notre Dame.

"Eve was brought forth from Adam's rib, they are one and the same; to consider women an embodiment of sin is to consider men so as well...and to consider God as a willful creator of Sin." She continued and Frollo had nowhere to run from the truth or the judgment.

Had this angel saved him only to bestow judgment upon him in front of the people?

His silence broke into a gasp only when he saw her approaching and his fear prevented him from noticing that the rain had not touched her form at all while the crowd stood wet in its observation.

For the first time in very, _very_ long, Frollo begged;

"P-please, have mercy! I've always been a faithful catholic and aways had the Lord's best interest in mind!"

The angel's steps towards him did not cease.

"But not that of your fellow humans."

Frollo's wide eyes snapped to her cold, cyan ones. So striking, they were...almost glowing in contrast with the darkened surroundings. Everything about her was a combination of white and light blue. He'd barely formed a coherent response in his mind before she continued; "If you understood the Lord, you'd know that His priority is the well-being of all humanity. Recite John 15:12."

A few-seconds-long pause ensued before Frollo realised that this was an actual request and he frantically searched his scattered thoughts for the memory. "U-uhm...m-my command is this; love each other as I have loved you." 

"And Romans 12:10."

The pit in his stomach grew as the angel tested him in front of the crowd that watched despite the ongoing downpour. Horrible memories were waking up from their deep slumber in the dark corners of his mind, echoing of times long past yet not ever truly forgotten...when his father would test him like so, but with a whip or a belt clutched tightly in his white-knuckle fist.

"...L-..Love each other with genuine affection, a-and take delight in honouring each other." In his fear, the words sounded hollow and devoid of meaning; as though he were saying them merely to pass the divine test.

The angel stopped walking when she'd reached the proximity of about two meters from him. She often wondered how humanity had become this way despite the clarity of God's teachings.

"And since you were so well-versed in Corinthians, recite 1 13:7 and 8."

So peculiar it was that she did not sound nearly as ruthless as his father did, yet struck more fear into his core than anything or anyone ever had before.

"Uh...um-...Love-...it always protects, always trusts, always hopes..." he paused to allow his mind a moment to recollect the verse. "...and always preserves. Love never fails." Fear intensified as he concluded, wondering if the angel would punish his momentary pause as his father or tutors would.

Yet she only nodded.

Frollo was a quick learner, but the attrition of time had eaten away at some of his memories; he could recite with considerable ease the biblical quotes on vengeance, damnation, punishment of sin, or warnings of Judgment Day...but the parts that reminded people the virtue of love, forgiveness, and acceptance were more difficult to recollect.

He stared at the angel as he kept his back pressed against the frigid stone wall of Notre Dame. Her observation of him was silent and she did not appear to be wishing to speak, unlike the people surrounding them who were barely keeping their anger at bay and their looks could kill him should they manifest.

All except that of Quasimodo.

For a moment, the steady tempo of rain and thunder were the only sounds to be heard as his gaze settled on the misshapen face of his adoptive son. It was worse than the fierce anger of the citizens, as his gaze held shock and pity at Frollo's vulnerability. Now he was the monster at the center of the city's animosity and even that abhorrent creature gazed down upon him with the sympathy he so deeply hated.

Soon enough, his expression began to reflect the rage that boiled inside him and Quasimodo stepped back instinctively from the fear that Frollo had forced upon him throughout his life. This, however, did not go unnoticed by Esmeralda, who protectively stepped in front of her friend and her bright green eyes flared with vivid defiance. 

"Punish him!" Shouted a man from the crowd, probably old judging by the hoarseness in his tone.

The match struck a flame of similar remarks demanding punishment as justice for what the minister had done.

"Kill him!"

"He deserves to burn eternally!"

"Restore justice!"

"Smite him to the pits of hell!"

_...Smite?_

The angel's brow furrowed as she turned to face the angry crowd. One had even picked a stone from the ground and had grabbed it with such passion that his fingers took some of the mud from the wet ground. Others followed his lead blindly and soon they looked like an army of fools ready to strike.

Frollo watched in fear and disbelief as the citizens prepared to stone him, but no longer would their hatred be allowed to flare as the angel suddenly raised her right arm.

He couldn't see the new-found harshness in her expression but he saw the outstretching of her large, white wings on either side of her. They obscured most of his vision of the crowd and he realised, to his shock, that it was to protect him.

Even her words confirmed this...

"The first person to throw a stone will be deemed just as guilty as him and worse." Her voice sounded through the revanchist buzz of the crowd and, for a moment, their cries ceased.

Confusion overshadowed anger as they stared at the angel, trying to figure out the reason of her sudden turn of sides.

"But he has sinned! The Lord bears witness to his crimes!" Shouted the one that harboured more bravery than the rest, who only let out growls of agreement.

"As have you. You look for whatever weapons your fragile hands can assemble and mercilessly throw them only when your target is weaker and unable to fight back."

Esmeralda was the first one to understand the angel's reference to the Festival of Fools where Quasimodo was cruelly humiliated by the entire city for nothing other than pleasure. Frollo had done nothing to help, but at this point she couldn't blame it only on him.

"For so long had he enforced his false perception of the Lord's Will upon you, yet none of you ever trusted enough in the scriptures to resist and let the Lord reward your bravery with an eternity of bliss. You looked upon your fellow people with disdain; never motivated enough to spare what was your own in order to help them."

And it was once again Esmeralda who understood before the others did that the angel was referring to the gypsies, and she was also the first to gasp in shock as the angel's form shifted slowly.

Her wings were now black as a raven's, her platinum hair had darkened to match her wings and curled like tidal waves under the midnight sky, while her milky white skin and cyan eyes became a deep shade of brown. She was still a beauty to behold; different, foreign, yet nonetheless angelic.

"You were so quick to gather around me and encourage the temptation of wrath as the pathetic fiends of hell do; who gather in crowds to feel powerful but cower before the Lord's might. Had I come to you in this form, many of you might have looked upon me with scorn..."

Then her features changed again as her lithe physique shrunk and shifted into a malformed man in ragged clothing. The angel was now brown-haired with only four fingers in each hand and a protruding spine. The bumps on his face and the seemingly blind clouded left eye were appalling but the crowd dared not voice this.

"And had I come to you in this form, you would have driven me away into hiding...or drowned me in that well."

Frollo couldn't fight back the shiver that ran down his spine like electricity at her words. One might have blamed the cold for this physical reaction, but he knew the true cause.

This particular form was left visible for a lot longer than the people would have liked, yet none of them were brave enough to ask the angel to shift until he did so himself, turning back to the first form they were first graced wtih; that of the lithe blonde woman.

"Do not seek revenge or bear a grudge against anyone among your people, but love your neighbour as yourself."

And the first one to pick the stone was the first to let it go.

Soft thuds followed, barely audible, as the rest followed along.

Most of them were educated enough about the lore to know this part of the bible, but Frollo was the first one to recognise the name and number. He stared in awe as she'd calmed the raging mass that would have no doubt killed him.

But it perplexed him so...he thought she was testing him like a vicious examiner, belittling him on purpose with his sins in front of the people who once feared him, stripping him of his pride and honour to leave him naked and begging before the eyes of Notre Dame and the Lord before an inevitable demise...

And yet she defended him.

"Go now, return to your homes or seek sanctuary if you lack it. Do not sacrifice your health in cold rain for a spectacle that will become common should you follow God's teachings."

The calm force of her words drove them into willful obedience. None of them wanted to wake up with a cold or even fever the next day.

Phoebus took Esmeralda's hand, reassuring her that it would be alright to leave Quasimodo for now as no harm would befall him. Her resistance was momentary, instinctive, but she followed after lightly patting her friend's hunched back. They said their goodbyes and Quasimodo bravely stepped towards the angel who stepped aside to allow him to approach his former master.

Frollo watched warily as Quasimodo approached. His expression held a defensive glare that resembled that of a wounded animal, but Quasimodo was calm in his firmness.

"...I forgive you."

And the former judge gasped and the angel smiled. It would take a while before the others could reach Quasimodo's level. He truly was a rare soul.

"...What?"

"I said I forgive you." The young man repeated. "But I will not hesitate to fight if you try to harm my friends again."

Earnest and bold, he knew precisely where to place his offense and defence. Frollo was left speechless as Quasimodo limped away, where Esmeralda and Phoebus waited for him to join them in the Court of Miracles. He exchanged acknowledging nods with the angel, who gazed upon him with firm approval.

And as the others walked away, the angel walked beside Frollo, whose breath hitched arbitrarily in fear. A coward at heart, but one could only blame the unresolved trauma.

Her large white wing reached him before she did as she outstretched it over him to shield him from the rain. He stared at her in confusion, silently questioning the lack of violence in her actions.

"...I had to let it touch you, purify you. You let your soul burn far too many times." Her voice was calmer now, devoid of its authoritative firmness. His brows furrowed at the unexpected sympathy.

"...Fire was meant to purify myself; rid myself from sin..." He protested without any particular resolve.

"Water purifies as fire does, Claude. To wish hell upon yourself during your time on earth will not make you worthy of heaven."

How tranquil her voice was...not precisely motherly, sisterly, or friendly, but a combination of all pleasant figures he could conjure in his mind.

Yet the weight of so many years of suffering in the name of the Lord forced doubt in his mind even at the words of a Godsent agent.

"B-but we are-...we sin, we displease the Lord and conjure sinful thoughts in our minds..." Admitting this made him rigid with the fear of exposure and punishment. His lust, his envy, his wrath...all the feelings elicited by Esmeralda's defiance that felt like burning. "I thought fire could..."

The intonation in his voice fell and so the angel picked up where he'd left. "Fire doesn't beat fire. Water does." She hummed in response as her eyes settled on the clouded sky. She could see his thoughts and the false analogies he'd created. "But all thoughts are common for the human mind, you were naturally made with inclination to both redemption and damnation. What will prove your resolve is how you act in the face of impure thoughts, not how well you hide them from yourself or the Lord. He sees and you know it."

His brows pinched in a childlike frown and he lowered his head in what seemed like defeat.

Though his gaze was soon to snap back to hers when she spoke again, shocking him further and showing him just how far into human existence an angel can see:

"And flaggelation is certainly not an act of resolve, but foolishness."

She knew he'd been flaggelated as a child and that he'd inflicted such and worse pain upon himself as well. His clothing was no shield against her primordial eyes that could still see the scars on his back as though he were naked.

"Do you not know that your body is a temple for the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honour God with your body."

This time, she was the one to recite the verse instead of asking him and he was quicker to recall it than he had been when she'd asked him in front of the others. However, this time his mind didn't focus on the name and numbers of the verse, but on the meaning. As a child, he questioned how the Lord could have wanted him to feel such excruciating pain, but his father and society had snuffed out his spirit and beaten the resistance out of him until he was left hollow, hating and hated.

But he still remembered and the angel knew. God would not have sent her to save him otherwise.

"...I-I'm sorry..."

And there it was, the thing he'd ceased to say ever since he entered adulthood and broke away from the grip of his parents due to his status as a rich male from a respected family. He never needed to apologise again and never wanted to, since it always used to come with pain and shame.

But it was different now; the angel's expression broke into a calm smile. She was proud of him and expressed it first with a comforting hand on his back that elicited a gasp from him and then with a gentle pull of his soulders into an embrace.

Physical contact had gradually become non-existent in his life, but even he knew that it was vastly different to be hugged by an angel than by a human.

He remained immobile in her arms for a long moment, but gradually eased into it and returned the gentle affection by burying his face in the crook of her neck and clutching her tightly against him. She was the single beam of light in his darkness.

"You are forgiven." She reassured in perhaps the most gentle tone he's heard from her so far, then added "love covers over a multitude of sins."

It was only a fragment of a verse Frollo still recalled its origin even as his mind loosened completely and all worry slipped away like dirt in the rain. He fingertips brushed through his damp grey hair and barely pressed onto his scalp.

The settling of the silence allowed him to notice that the rain had calmed into a slight drizzle that gently tapped along all surfaces it touched and the thunder had lost its frequency and volume, sounding distant whenever it echoed through the skies.

"...Who are you? Does the Lord allow you to reveal your name?"

There was innocent curiosity in his inquiry and the angel chose to oblige him after a moment's consideration.

"Matariel."

Yet, despite his studies and the faint familiarity of that name, he couldn't recall it. He knew only the main archangels and very few other angels mentioned in religious texts.

"...I-"

"Angel of rain." She clarified with amusement, knowing he is not familiar with her.

"There was no mention in the bible..."

"The prophet Enoch has given descriptions, but the bible isn't foused on us agents of God. Bear in mind that what will determine your entry in heaven is not your knowledge of supplementary information, but your understanding and practice of God's teachings." Advised Matariel as they shifted away from each other.

There was no ounce of water on her form even though they'd been hugging for over a minute and his clothes were completely drenched. This time Frollo noticed.

But then she stepped back and withdrew her wings from him, which formed an invisible grip of worry on his stomach. He barely regarded the rain that began to fall onto him again.

He knew she'd have to leave, but he couldn't help the fear of what would happen now that the city had seen all his sins. Would they imprison him? He knew he didn't have many years left so all of them would be spent in prison. Or...would they exile him? Kill him?

"W-wait!" He shouted before she could turn away from him, successfully managing to keep her still even for a brief amount of time. "The people...they saw what I've been doing. I cannot return to the Palace of Justice now."

Matariel's eyes shifted from his to the large church behind him; slightly damaged from the battle yet still intact.

"...It would be comedic to claim that you have nowhere to stay."

It wasn't difficult to take her hint, yet it surprised him nonetheless. "...Notre Dame?"

"It offers sactuary to all in need and I believe it already has a bed intact."

Technically speaking, it had already been made into a tiny home of sorts by Quasimodo, but it was almost poetic that he would now have to stay where he'd imprisoned the boy for twenty years. God has His peculiar ways of bestowing justice.

"...And the people- what if they don't forgive me? What if they come after me the moment I step out?"

"...I cannot guarantee that my words will resonate in their minds, nor am I allowed to influence them. You must trust the Lord in the face of any potential danger and He will reward that trust."

Delayed gratification, he understood. The fear lingered and it was only natural, but he'd chosen to repent and God would be on his side.

Something in him felt the need to stop the ethereal woman again from flying away, but it would be futile. She'd completed her work and he doubted that angels were allowed to stay in this world for longer than their duty allowed.

And so, after giving him the same firm nod she'd given Quasimodo, she flapped her wings with considerable force and was once again up in the rainy skies.

He watched and watched even as she flew away from all visible horizon and then watched some more again when he'd ascended to the balcony of Notre Dame. The slightest hint of disappointment lingered at her absense, but he knew he'd see her again if he went to heaven; he'd see all the angels and the saints.

It was a motivating enough thought to carry with as he dried himself and settled awkwardly on the rather small bed. Growing accustomed to this lifestyle would not be easy and he was already cussing to himself inwardly as he attempted to somehow make himself comfortable there.

Though, compared to falling into a pit of flame and then having his soul tortured for all eternity...this would do.


End file.
